Riding to New York
by Jinx Brytt
Summary: Song-fic. In a gas station in Minnesota an emerald eyed man sits on his old motorbike with cigarette in hand. This is his story.


"Every song has a story. So, before I start the song, let me tell you the story.

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**I met him in Minnesota.** I'd stopped off at a gas station to buy a pack of fags. Coming out of the store, with said pack in hand, I noticed a man sat on his old motorbike smoking. **He was dark and overcast with long grey hair and eyes that stared through me like I was glass.** "This is the best cigarette I've ever had in my life" he'd said.

I smiled and **I asked "Where are you going to?"**

**He said "I'm the wind, I'm just blowing through."**

"Why?" I asked the question as he stood on his burnt out cigarette. I had never expected the story that I got in reply.

Emerald eyes locked on to my own as **he lit up a cigarette and began to talk. He said "The doctors told me that my body wont hold me, my lungs are turning black. Been a lucky strike's fool since I was at school and there ain't no turning back."** A sad smile that said that the man had seen far too much of the world appeared on his face. He twirled the cigarette between his fingers before taking a long drag and exhaling heavily. **"They can't tell me how long I've got, maybe months but maybe not, so I'm taking this bike and riding to New York."**

"New York? What's waiting for you there?"

He smiled that sad, small smile of his before saying "Family." and looking down at his feet. **"I wanna see my grand-daughter one last time. Wanna hold her close and feel her tiny heart beat next to mine.** She was only born on Halloween." He laughed. It was short, sharp and cold. "Only good thing that's ever happened to me on that day." He added bitterly. **"I wanna see my son and the man he's become, tell him I'm sorry for the things I've done."**

It occurred to me then that this man's story was a long one. One I'd never really know. "What route are you taking?" I asked so quietly I was almost whispering.

His smile almost, almost, reached his eyes this time. **"Through the forests of Wisconsin, past the skyline of Chicago, round the lakes of Illinois. I'll lay my head in my motel bed, where my back is sore and my eyes turn red, and listen to the trucks roll past my door. Through the fields of Ohio as the sunshine paints the gold I'll run like a river runs, rapid, quick and cold. And fly through Pennsylvania and the Jersey turnpike tolls. And I won't stop 'till I get to New York." **

**"Cause I wanna see my grand-son one last time. I wanna see his eyes sparkling and stare back into mine."** He seemed to come back to me a bit as he said "He inherited my eyes, you know. My mothers eyes, or so I was told." He was gone again, there but not. His body was there and his mouth was moving but his mind and heart were elsewhere. I sat silently, waiting.

**"Now my time is shorter I wanna see my daughter, tell her I'm sorry for the things I taught her."** a short laugh again **"I'd do it if I had to walk."** He sat there, silent, for a short while. Just as I'd turned away he continued, barely audible over the din of passing cars. **"And I'd go up to the churchyard one last time. Lay flowers down for the woman who gave me the best years of my life."** He sighed and murmured **"I'd do it if I had to walk, so I'm taking this bike and riding to New York."**

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So that's the story behind the song. Now I've bored you all to tears I suppose I'd better start actually doing what you paid to see. This song is called Riding to New York…

Well, I met him in Minnesota,

he was dark and overcast,

with long grey hair and eyes that stared

through me like I was glass…"

* * *

Mike sat, beer in hand and exhausted, backstage at The Brooke caught up in the memories of that night. He thought back to the one part of the story he'd always left out:

He returned the sad smile to the man and turned away to leave him to his memories, paused, and asked over his shoulder "I don't believe I ever caught your name?"

Emerald orbs, shining with unshed tears, looked up at him one last lime.

"Harry, Harry Potter"

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**AN. The song featured in this fic is Passenger's Riding to New York. Brilliant artist btw guys ;)**

**Anyway, this is my first fanfic. It popped into my head whilst I was listening to the song on holiday in France and seeing as I had a 6 hour ferry ride I wrote this and started the possible second part. Depending on whether I ever get around to completing part 2 or not there may be a second chapter focusing on Harry when he gets to New York. Anything I feel is in need of explanation will be included in part 2.**

**Thanks muchly :D**


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